Black Gold
by Boooklover12
Summary: Two killing curse green eyes. Three prisoners of Azkaban who can't remember what sanity feels like. And one very bad set of magical defenses with the faith of the Ministry. Dark!Main Characters.
1. Black Gold

**Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HARRY POTTER! *sniffle***

 **Word of warning: definitely rated T - no high K+ here.**

Water dripped through the cracks of the rough bricks to fall with a nearly silent splash to the floor. More dampness seeped through the mortar to continue forming the oily black slime coating the walls. Wind moaned through cracks in iron bars, carved with magic suppressing runes nearly invisible under the muck. There was a soft whisper of cloth on stone in the hallways as Dementors patrolled.

By a cell, the next drop of water was turned to ice in the mortar, widening the cracks a bit further. The dementor glided silently by, not pausing as it did with the cells farther down the block. The inside of the cell was shrouded in impenetrable darkness, obscuring whatever lay within.

An inmate moaned.

Two brilliant green orbs appeared in the blackness. They glowed like twin killing curses, seemingly attached to nothing. A hand, emaciated and filthy, delicately emerged from the darkness, wrapping itself around the thick bars, finger by bony finger.

Slowly, a figure emerged from the shadows, with hair so dark that it blended in with the walls. Dirt and other unmentionable things stained his skin a multitude of different shades - yellow, black, and brown mixing to an unsavory putrid green.

The figure gave an unhinged grin, and using the inch long yellow nail, cracked and sharp, of his index finger, scraped away at the muck of the bars. The nail made a quiet screeching sound that in the near silence of the prison echoed forebodingly. The dementors paid it no mind - if they were capable of such thought processes in the first place.

The inmate pressed one long finger to the newly revealed rune, careless of the sharp edges slicing into the pad of his finger. Crimson liquid oozed from the wound, mixing with the dirt and turning brown. As blood trailed down the bar, the runes lit up a dim gold.

In the cell, the prisoner threw back his head and laughed. It started low, building hysterically in his chest, before bursting forth at a pitch that would hurt the other prisoner's ears if they were coherent enough to hear it.

Still giggling, the inmate dragged his other index finger sharply across his remaining three fingertips, before splaying his hand across the bars nearest to to the glowing first one.

As blood trickled their length, they too lit up gold.

The prisoner cackled, forming a fist and pooling blood on his palm, before smearing it across the remaining bars in one smooth motion. There was a sharp crack as the bars fractured neatly in the middle, breaking the glowing runes in half.

The prisoner paused, examining his handy work.

For a few seconds, he stood perfectly still. Then, with a violent slashing motion, he blew the bars from the wall with powerful magic, making a crashing noise loud enough to wake the dead.

The dementors stayed down the block with no visible reaction, possessing no hearing whatsoever, but all but two other inmates moaned and screamed at the sudden noise.

The man carefully stepped out the door of the cell, neatly avoiding the surrounding rubble and protruding metal. He turned to the right, stopping in front of the cells adjacent to his.

In the cell directly next to him, a woman started giggling. She moved into the light, stopping a foot from him on the other side of the bars. Neither was bothered by the proximity. She reached through the bars and dragged her nails down the side of his cheek, a disturbing parody of a mother's fond gesture.

An eerie grin lit her face. "We will be free, yes?"

The man matched her grin as he replied, in a voice just as rough, "Yes."

The woman cackled, twirling a matted brown curl of hair around her finger and backing away into her cell. The man placed his hands on the bars, and with another sharp crack, separated them from the wall.

The woman let out a gleeful shriek as the bars fell to the ground, stepping out of the hole to join her companion. The two paused for a moment in joy, before turning to the right and continuing on their way.

She bounced as they walked, humming under her breath and muttering, "One more, one more, and then they'll take the world by storm!"

They finally arrived at their destination down the row of the highest level of Azkaban cells, stopping in front of a man slumped against the ground with hair the color of dried blood.

The woman leaned down next to his ear, matted clumps of hair swinging into her face. "Daaaarling, it's time for the world to burn!"

The man opened his blue eyes half way, before catching sight of her chocolate brown orbs and the man standing behind her, maniacal grin in place. He started to laugh, clapping his hands together once and rising to his feet, backing away from the bars.

The green eyed man stepped forward, placing his hands on the bars once more,before promptly blowing them dust.

The woman jumped up and down next to him. "You're already regaining your strength. Soon we'll burn, burn, burn!"

She punctuated each 'burn' with a clap. The red haired man stepped from his cell and joined the others.

He daintily picked dirt from his filthy fingernails as he asked, "Where shall we go first?"

The dark haired man lowered his head in thought. "I'm thinking the Ministry of Morons… We can make their tiles crimson!"

The woman shook her head in disgust and whined, "Not like this! We must be suitably dressed!"

The dark haired man shrugged, and snapping two bloody fingers together, sent out a pulse of magic.

His hair unknotted, falling in short messy waves across his head, lightened to the color of a raven's wing. The dirt vanished from his skin, showing him to be unnaturally pale, and his rags were replaced with a black robe.

The woman's curly brown hair fell neatly to her shoulders and covered the top of a blood red robe courtesy of her companion. She frowned and snapped her own fingers, turning her clothing into a black form fitting dress.

"Much better."

The man next to her, hair now a brilliant red, rolled his eyes. He fingered his own robe, adding small red highlights.

The black haired man frowned, but his eyes never lost their eerie green glow, tempered with more than a hint of insanity.

The brunette cackled. "Perhaps we should wear gold! We _are_ the Golden Trio, after all!"

The glowing green eyes of the leader narrowed to slits as a macabre grin spread across aristocratic features. Harry Potter bared his teeth at his compatriots. "Haven't you ever heard of black gold, Hermione dearest? It looks innocent until it lights up the world with flames."

The two wizards and witch joined hands, cackling at their soon to be victory and newly found freedom, before vanishing in a pillar of black flames.

Their laughter echoed up and down the hallways before fading to nothing, the dementors resuming their ceaseless circuit.

 **A/N: In my defense, someone ate all my chocolate. And I was on a Dark!Harry reading binge. For those of you wondering, black gold is another name for coal.**


	2. A Self Fulfilling Prophecy

**Disclaimer: If I had a billion dollars I'd... Probably buy sushi every day for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, but that's not the point. Not J.K.R., folks. I don't own Harry Potter. If I did Arnold the pygmy puff would have gotten a bigger role.**

A man was dragged into a courtroom. The Aurors holding him let him fall with a thud. The man made no move to get up, lying immobile on the floor, arms akimbo at an odd angle.

High above him, another man looked down with all of the scorn of those who understand nothing, and said, "Accused. Proceed to the chair so we may begin this trial."

The lump on the floor was unresponsive.

The man leaned forward, fingers curling around the edges of the podium. A sneer contorted his already unattractive features. "Accused!"

The man on the floor twitched, and attempted to prop himself up on an emaciated arm.

"ACCUSED!"

Up by the podium, an auror attempted to get the Minister's attention. "Sir…"

The Minister ignored him and continued to glare at the twitching man on the floor.

The auror made an aborted motion to touch the MInister's arm. "Sir, your orders…"

The Minister rounded on the auror abruptly. "I know my own orders, Weatherby!"

'Weatherby' winced. "Sir, you ordered the guards not to give him any food. I'm surprised that he's still alive, let alone able to attempt to move."

The Minister frowned. "Yes, I suppose it has been a week or so…"

"Four, Sir."

"Four what, Weatherby?"

"Weeks, Sir."

The Minister frowned again. "Hmm… Weatherby, help him up. He's a disgrace to the courtroom. And tell the rest of your hopeless compatriots to bring his accomplices in. This is a _joint_ trial, after all."

Weatherby grimaced and gave a funny little half bow, like he wasn't sure what form of respect the Minister wanted and had decided to attempt to combine a salute and a curtsey at the same time. The Minister gave him an annoyed look and shooed him off with an impatient and long suffering grimace.

Weatherby attempted to wade through the people standing around waiting for the trail to start and craning their necks to get a look at the accused before giving up.

Stepping on top of a rare space on a bench, he shouted, "Bring the other two in! And get him up off the floor!"

One of the aurors by the door heard him and nodded, vanishing to go get the other accused. His partner started towards the man, lifting him up onto the chair, where chains bound him in place. Job done, Weatherby headed back up to the podium.

The auror by the door and a group of guards returned with the other prisoners. Two chained chairs shimmered into existence next to the first, and the guards carelessly forced the new prisoners, a man and woman, into the seats. Chains snaked up and bound their wrists and ankles in place.

Neither reacted.

The Minister banged his gavel on the podium. "ORDER! Order in the court!"

The crowd fell silent.

The Minister cast a glance at Weatherby, who was prepared with parchment and a quill. "Scribe, you may begin now. Today is the 15th of July, 1997. We gather to witness the trial of accused Harry James Potter, and his accomplices, accused Hermione Jean Granger and Ronald Bilius Weasley."

Weatherby did not react but for a small twitch, copying down his younger brother's name dutifully.

"The accusations are as follows: that the accused did knowingly, and in full awareness of the illegality of their actions commit treason against the government, and performed the Killing Curse on another human being. Harry James Potter, Hermione Jean Granger, and Ronald Bilius Weasley, how do you plead?"

None of the chained people on the ground floor reacted. Whispers spread amongst the crowd like the hissing of snakes. The Minister banged his gavel.

"How do you plead?"

There was no response.

"Minister, if I may interrupt?" the defense, a tall man with extraordinary bushy eyebrows interjected.

The Minister gave an inaudible grunt. The defense took it as a go ahead. "We have discussed it, Sir. They plead guilty."

There was a murmur of approval from the crowd.

"Very well then. Let us begin. Harry James Potter, is it true that…"

The prosecution and the defense traded back and forth, neither eliciting a response from any of the accused. The farce of a trial proceeded as expected, neither the prosecution nor defense mentioning Lord Voldemort or the freshly ended war. The prosecution pushed for life in Azkaban, then execution, and the defense put up a futile resistance before folding to the demands.

Minister Fudge banged his gavel, trying not to smirk at an easy victory. "All in favor of execution by dementors kiss say aye!"

There was a chorus of ayes from around the courtroom. "All against say nay!"

The room fell silent. No one spoke. Weatherby looked up with a pale but expressionless face, eyes momentarily lingering on his brother.

Fudge's eyes glittered. "It has been decided by unanimous vote. The accused shall be executed by the dementor's kiss!"

Two aurors entered the room, guiding a single dementor towards the three prisoners. The crowd made muted sounds of excitement.

The dementor strained on its chains, pulling towards the well of despair each prisoner held in their heart. The blackened chains fell from the wrists and ankles of the new convicts, leaving them free to run but unable to do so because of the dementor's cold.

The whispers of the crowd grew more fervent. The minister leaned forward on the podium.

The dementor approached the first prisoner and tilted his head back. Closed eyes slowly parted, revealing dark blue irises. Ron looked past the dementor, eyes alighting on his third oldest brother.

Weatherby grimaced and looked away, eyes to the floor. The accusation in those blue eyes was unmistakable.

 _Brother, I shall never forgive you, even if it takes my ghost to remind you._

The dementor removed its hood and leaned forward, gently tilting Ron's face to meet it. It drew a shuddering breath and Ron's eyes slipped closed.

The same instant, emerald green eyes opened. Harry Potter threw himself forward on failing legs, hands scraping down the cloaked back of the dementor. The being let out an unearthly screech, folding forward onto itself.

Rotten hands wrapped around an insubstantial body as the dementor let out another keening whine. It shivered, seemingly feeling its own cold for once, before throwing its arms wide and screaming at a pitch that had the crowd clapping hands over their ears and whimpering themselves. Ron fell back in his chair.

Crimson flames crept up the dementor's cloak, turing wherever they touched to ash. Within seconds, the dementor was no more, and all that remained of the once fearsome being was a pile of gray ash on the floor.

The crowd was terrified into silence. Minister Fudge was the first to react. He was pale faced and clammy, but shouted, "A-aurors! Bring another! This is just more proof that what we feared has come to pass!"

The aurors fell over themselves trying to leave the courtroom, dignity forgotten. After a tense minute of charged silence, they returned with another dementor.

It floated calmly into the room, not straining like the other had, but not turning in terror like some in the crowd had expected. It floated towards the prisoners, but came to a sudden halt once in got within a few feet. It shivered for a second, before turning and absolutely refusing to go within five feet of any of the prisoners, no matter what the aurors tried.

Confusion abounded in the courtroom. None of the convicts moved-Harry stayed immobile on the floor.

Eventually, Fudge gave up and ordered the dementor away. He then turned to the remaining aurors. "Take them away. Put them in Azkaban-the highest level. They're not getting out anytime soon."

The aurors cautiously approached the prisoners. One brave auror lunged forward, grabbing Hermione's arm, then forcefully pulled her to her feet when she gave no resistance.

Emboldened by his success, four others hauled Ron and Harry to their feet. Harry's eyes opened minutely, showing a sliver of killing-curse green. The emerald was nowhere to be found.

"Fudge." Harry's voice was raspy, but silenced the courtroom with little effort. "Have you heard of a self fulfilling prophecy?"

Fudge blustered but gave no response.

Undeterred, Harry continued, "I promise you-I swear on my magic and my mother's grave-that I will not rest-not until all that you have feared, lied about, and imagined has come to pass. Not until your terrors and fears-your nightmares and secret torments-have become unchanging reality."

Harry Potter looked Minister Fudge in the eye-and for a moment the crowd did not see his emaciated form, nor his unkempt and matted hair-they saw his steely conviction and unwavering intention for vengeance, and they were afraid.

Killing-curse green eyes narrowed. "I swear that I will make your world burn."

Beside him, Hermione muttered, "Burn, burn burn… took his heart and made him turn..."

And emerald eyed innocence was no more.

 **A/N: So... Um... Ahem... I'm like,** ** _totally_** **working on my other stories. Like, every day. After homework. And binge watching Dr. Who. The tenth doctor is totally my favorite, even if I had to get over the whole Barty Crouch Jr. thing. Anyway, happy 2017! For the PINEAPPLE NINJAS!**


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